Happy Birthday! (Kinda)
by twoscarypandas
Summary: It's America's Birthday! Canada suffers the consequences. [Implied Slash, AmeriCan]


**Title: **Happy Birthday (Kinda)

**Author:** Panda N (Written Solo)

**Rating:** T

**Pairings: **Implied America/World, Canada/America Preslash

**Summary: **It's America's birthday. Canada suffers the consequences.

**Warnings: **Slash. Implied hooking-up.

**Disclaimer: **These characters do not belong to me, and I make no money off writing about them.

Obviously, the best part of any birthday is the birthday sex.

Sadly, it was not Mattie's birthday.

"Heppy Birthday, Comrede!" The rather intimidating presence that loomed in his doorway smiled cheerfully, which in _no_ way made it less intimidating. He'd often considered trying some of Arthur's magic to place wards around his place to ward off this very presence. But Russia, it seemed, would never be kept out of anywhere.

"Um…" He braced himself in the doorway, gripping the wood and saying a silent prayer. "I'm not—"

"I bring vodka!" The nation paid no mind to his quiet protests. "And, of course, the gift of becoming one. Is best gift one could have, da?" Pushing Canada aside with little more than a swish of his jacket, he entered the place and took off his gloves—which, according to Francis, was a sign of good will. "Boishemoi. Is hot in your place this time of year. Good thing you do not need clothes to be one with Russia."

"Um—Ah—Ivan? Sir? Mister… Braginski…?" He tried, only to squeak as the man threw off his coat to reveal a… Hm. Well. Whatever it was, it was made of very fitted black latex. "It's—I'm Matthew."

"Matthew?" He looked at him, perplexed. Well, his face _tilted_ like it was perplexed. Russia never really displayed much emotion beyond general contentment these days… Thank God. "This is… birthday game?"

"Um…" Biting into his lower lip, Mattie tried to look away, but his eyes just trailed down that shining black… Thong. God, Alfred _better_ enjoy that when it gets down there. Or not. "Maple… No. I'm… I'm Mattie. Matthew? Canada?"

Tilting his head the other way, Russia frowned just a little, more confused now than ever. "Is strange game… Oh!" He brightened, as though he somehow understood. "You are playing new nation, I am to be convincing you to be one!" He clapped his hands together, hips swaying as he sort-of sing-songed "Kol-kol-kol~! Kol-kol-kol~! Russia loves all naaaa~tions…"

"NO!" At once, Matthew heard himself cry out with the kind of fear he normally reserves for the sight of Alfred with a lighter and a box of dynamite. "No-! I'm _Canada_! I—I live upstairs from Alfred—it's _his _birthday! Not mine! Mine was—"

"Oh." Ivan frowned again, this time looking slightly disappointed. "Oh, I see."

Music thumped beneath their feet, but for a moment the awkward silence between them drowned it out completely. Then Ivan swept his coat from the floor and put his gloves back on.

"I am sorry for interrupting your evening." He said, sounding genuinely so as he snatched up the vodka. "The party is downstairs, da?"

Nodding quietly, Mattie threw on a faint smile as he waved a hand to the door. "One flight down. I mean… He's got so much security at that door, you can't miss it."

"Da. I know well, the security." With a somewhat nasty smile, Ivan passed him by, patting his head lightly—that is, with enough force to cripple him, but not quite crush him. "You are good sport… Matthew?"

"Matthew." He mumbled in confirmation, ducking his head under the weight, knowing the nation won't remember. "Canada."

"Whatever." Shrugging the name away like some fleeting daydream. And then he was headed downstairs, and Mattie was locking his door again, relieved and…

… Well…

… A little miffed.

Downstairs, he heard something break, someone laugh. The music turned up. Annoyed, he stomped on the floor, gritting his teeth. Damn it all. Now his pancakes were cold. And he had no idea where he'd left off in his book. And Kuma-whatever was nowhere to be found—he usually disappeared whenever Ivan was in the vicinity.

He really hated Alf's birthday.

With a sigh, he headed to the table and grabbed his plate, intent on warming it up in the microwave. The scent of hamburger and hot-dog wafted up from downstairs, and his stomach grumbled. It was so unfair. This was the first batch of pancakes he'd managed to finish all day, because he kept getting interrupted by—

His door busted open with the kind of sound he'd often expected to hear when Alf finally declared nuclear war on someone. He dropped his plate, ducking behind the kitchen counter and covering his head with his hands, a loud and helpless cry flying from his lips.

"Do you want it in here, or-?" He heard a voice call from his living room. "Alf?"

There was a loud thud, and Mattie looked up to find Lithuania of all people, dragging a huge wooden structure into the room. It was big, sturdy as all get out, and blinking with flashing lights everywhere. It was… A ping-pong table. A massive ping-pong table, with little wooden carvings of Alfred holding up each leg, and a huge American flag for a playing field. The net was wired with LEDs that shone the American flag on both sides, and busts of Alfred's smiling face capped the poles.

"Wow." Toris stopped for a moment, looking around with a blink. "There's actually a lot of space in here. Did you clean?"

"Um—" Oh, Maple. Pushing up from the floor, Mattie wandered out from his kitchen and took stock of the situation. Getting the table _into_ the place had already been a challenge for poor Toris. He looked beat. "Actually… I'm not—"

"It works like this." Toris interrupted him, smacking a big red button on the left side of the net, which immediately caused nine holes to open up on each side of the board—perfectly fitted for the iconic red Solo cup.

Of course.

"Actually," He tried again, and this time Toris looked at him. "This isn't… I'm not Alfred."

Frowning hard, Toris assessed him, and for some reason Mattie got the feeling that he was running through some kind of mental checklist. Then he crossed his arms over his chest and said with complete certainty, "You're the other guy."

Smiling a sympathetic little smile, Mattie nodded. "Yep."

Annoyed, Toris blew out a heavy sigh. "I guess I better get this… downstairs, right?"

"How'd you guess?" He couldn't help his sarcasm. The music was clearly blaring from below, and the sound of laughter and cheering could be heard from miles around. "Need help?"

"Nope." Toris sighed again, grabbing hold of both legs and dragging the table back out of Mattie's place, looking totally peeved and mumbling to himself about Russia's bad directions.

It wasn't Russia's bad directions.

Annoyed, Mattie wandered back into the kitchen and stared mournfully down at his meal, which had been splatted all over the floor in his excitement. He _hated_ Alfred's birthday. Hated it. Every year—_every year_—nations came to his door with presents that ranged from the benign to the seductive to the ridiculous. And every year he had to turn them away because it was _Alfred_'s birthday, not his.

No one ever remembered his birthday. Even though—

His door burst open again, just as loud as it had before. But this time it was accompanied by the sound of Arthur singing at the top of his lungs.

"_Ennnngland_, My Lovin' Land of Oooold~!" He stumbled in, holding onto the doorframe and swaying there as his latest bottle fell from his fingers. It clattered to the floor but didn't break, just rolled away. "_Alfred!_"

Groaning a little to himself, Mattie rose to his feet and dumped the remains of his dinner into his trash. "Artie. Please. Don't do this right now." He already had the headache to end all headaches, and if he hears one more thing about his downstairs neighbor, he may very well get out a lighter and go visit. "Please? Can you please just give me an hour to eat something before you—"

"_Ye'bluddy ickle tramp, runnin'offlikes ye got some big ideas or sommat!"_ The nation pointed at him, completely ignoring his protests (as he always did). "_I MADE YOU!_ Yewas my _friend_! An'now ye think yer so much better'n me 'cause yer such a big fuckin' nation with all yer… _land_!"

Okay. This… This wasn't fair.

It wasn't fair that people kept interrupting his evening because _Alfred_ was a year older, and it wasn't fair that he had to put up with the noise and the music and the smell of hamburger, and it wasn't fair that he had to keep telling people Mattie's party was downstairs, but he couldn't _go_, because he wasn't on the _list_. No one even remembered to _invite_ him.

It especially wasn't fair because…

"I'm _NOT ALFRED!"_ He yelled, his voice rising to a decibel so loud that he could hear people pause in conversation below. "I'm _MATTHEW!_ _CANADA!_ And it's _Not_ my birthday! That was _three days ago!_ July _First!_ The day _YOU _decided to make _ME _a country, in case you forgot!"

For a moment, England just stared at him with that drunken dopey look that almost looked like comprehension.

Then he threw his arms around Matthew and wept. "_WHY DID YOU HAVE TO LEAVE ME?! AAAALFRED! WHY?! I NEVER DID ANYTHING TO YOU EXCEPT TAKE YOUR FOOD AND MONEY, BUT ISN'T THAT LOVE?! WHAT'S MINE IS YOURS?!"_

Breathing out softly, Matthew steered him toward the door and threw him out anyway, too tired to deal with another person who was upset over something Alfred did. Even if it was England.

He shut the door and locked it, resolving to completely ignore all other visitors. He had movies to watch, dinner to… well, dinner was a bust. But there was popcorn waiting to be popped, anyway.

Throwing the bag into the microwave, he watched it spin and tried not to cry. This happened every year, this huge celebration for Alfred's birthday, that ultimately led confused nations right to his door. He should just hang a sign, but… He had too much pride. Canada was Canada, and other nations should be smart enough to know that. Tears welled in his eyes. It wasn't fair, though. His birthday had passed without a single notice, no cards, no presents, not even a phone-call. No one ever remembered Canada Day. It just wasn't fair.

"So what're we watching?"

"Maple!" He jumped, whipping around to face—

Alfred.

Beaming down at him like the sun, his jacket slung halfway down his arms and his body far too close. He was leaning on the counter, his arms trapping Mattie on either side. Oh God. How did he even…? It didn't matter. Honestly, it didn't matter at all.

"Wh—What're you doing here? I'm… Ohmaple…" He muttered, unable to really get his thoughts straight when all he can see is Alfred, staring down at him, holding him against the counter like he tends to do when he… Well.

"Bored." Alfred sighed, reaching above his head to steal the popcorn from the microwave. "It's like not even a real party down there."

"Oh." Deflated, Mattie picked up his movies from the counter and followed him into the living room, where…

There was a cupcake on the table. Red velvet. White cream cheese icing. A little red maple leaf on top, and a candle, flickering above the mountain of sugar. "Alf…" He murmured, his heart thudding.

"What?" The other nation blinked, looking over his shoulder and throwing popcorn in his mouth. "Oh. Yeah, I think that was the only one that came out okay. Sorry." He grinned, dropping to the couch and munching on the popcorn.

"It's okay." He said, not really caring at all. It was something. Alfred… remembered. Kind of. He moved to sit down next to him and found himself drawn close, a strong, wandering hand dipping low to the more dangerous parts of his anatomy. Then Alfred stole the remote and put on _Goodfellas_, and they ignored birthdays altogether as the party raged on one floor below, unnoticed.


End file.
